


The Art of Settling

by sallysorrell



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, OT3, because I like dialogue a lot whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysorrell/pseuds/sallysorrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are rocky, as the five-year-mission draws to a close.  For the first time in a long time, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy are having a hard time understanding each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Settling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jabbierwocky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jabbierwocky/gifts).



It was hesitant.

It was long, hopeless gazes, gentle touches, and thoughtful words.  All harvested from the heart.

It could not live that way forever; a constant inhalation with no chance of breathing out.

And so, it stretched toward the fringe of its comfortable nest, ready to fly.  Or fall.  In sickbay, between beds and behind curtains.

McCoy’s hands rested over the wound on Kirk’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Bones,” Kirk promised.

McCoy tossed his head to one side, skeptical.  He leaned closer, and pressed two fingers to Kirk’s neck, in search of his pulse.

“Isn’t that a bit old-fashioned?” the captain grinned, and fell against the doctor’s shoulder.

“Shhh… it works, when you don’t talk.”

The captain offered his familiar, charming smile.  McCoy watched, keeping his fingers over their target.  He allowed his face to drift closer to the captain’s, stopping just short of puzzled lips.

The wide eyes were clueless.  McCoy instead leaned an ear toward the captain’s neck, and encouraged him to breathe normally.

“Everything alright?” Kirk asked, unnerved by the duration of his visit.

“Sure,” McCoy mumbled, shutting his eyes and continuing to hide his face, “I just… I wanted something like you and Spock have.”

He peeled his fingers away, and dropped them to his side.  Kirk watched, as they shriveled up, behind defensively folded arms.

“Sorry?”

“You heard me,” McCoy shrugged, “I want what you and Spock have.”

“What me and… Spock have?”

The doctor sighed and stepped backward.

“Don’t,” Briefly, he flashed his palm, “Please, don’t.  The whole _fleet_ knows, Jim.”

Kirk glanced at the floor, and tucked both feet beneath the stretcher he sat on.  Nervously, he crossed them, boots creaking against each other.  He found the sound reminiscent of old, neglected doors on earth, and sighed.

“Bones… look at me.”

Reluctantly, the doctor complied.  Each breath trembled, and his eyes struggled to stay open without the assistance of tears.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” he turned to look over his shoulder.

“You _know_ I care about you.”

“No; I used to.”

He left, without waiting for a reply.

***

“You seem troubled, Doctor.”

Despite his best attempts to avoid the Vulcan, McCoy was caught on his way to the turbo-lift.

“You have not been present on the Bridge for three consecutive shifts,” Spock continued, walking beside the doctor.

“I do actually _work_ here, Spock.  And what do you care?   I’m not part of the Bridge-crew, anyway.”

“That fact has not deterred you in the past.”

McCoy stopped and stared longingly at the lift. 

_Might as well make it four shifts._

“Is there something you wish to discuss, Doctor?” Spock stopped beside him, and waited patiently for his focus to return.

“Not with you, no.”

“You wish to speak to the captain about our relationship,” he concluded, catching the attention of a passing security officer.

The words would wait; McCoy grabbed Spock’s sleeve, cuffing his fingers around the golden braids, and dragged him along to Sickbay.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I did not intend to insult you.”

“Stop, Spock.  You don’t need to say anything.  I don’t _want_ you to say anything.”

The Vulcan remained beside him in Sickbay, despite the silence – which only one party found to be uncomfortable. 

“You don’t need to stay, either,” McCoy sighed, rubbing his brow.

Spock draped his hands over the back of the doctor’s empty chair, in polite refusal.  Turning to face him, McCoy brushed two fingers over his wrist, letting them settle between beveled veins.

“Sorry,” he said, recalling and retreating. 

“I will speak with the captain.”

***

“I hope Bones is okay,” Kirk said, for the sixth time, “I haven’t seen him in… going on two days now, isn’t it?”

Spock stood in front of the sealed doors, facing the captain, who spent the time between shifts pacing and worrying.  Eventually, he settled on his bed, but was not still for more than a minute; he shuffled, crossed his legs, and drew his hands pensively through the air.

“Four consecutive shifts,” Spock clarified, “Forty hours.”

“I need to apologize.  Remind me.”

At both statements, Spock nodded.

Kirk folded his arms, and tucked them behind his head.  He faced the ceiling, offering only his eyes to Spock.  Finally, he had found something he could call ‘comfortable,’ but he was sure it would be temporary, easily erased by the troubling words.  They settled like a chalky pill over his tongue, and he was unsure whether to spit them out or accept them.

“Doesn’t mean he’ll forgive me.”

“That would not be in his nature,” Spock recited, calmly.

The captain smiled, and felt his eyes drift shut.  If Spock said it, it was the singular truth.

“Would you forgive me, Spock?  For a thing like that?”

“From what I have observed, ‘forgiveness’ is an emotional crutch, so to speak.  I would strive not to upset you in the first place.”

“I guess that is the logical approach,” Kirk shrugged and stood.

He always asked permission before touching Spock, when they were alone in a private cabin.  Spock nodded, and twined their fingers together with graceful precision he had only seen rivalled by McCoy’s, during a surgery. 

His kisses were never returned; Spock’s lips were dry, cold, and unmoving.  Kirk sighed, and set his chin atop the Vulcan’s shoulder.

Spock felt the desperate breaths, curling over the tip of his ear and dyeing his neck with their unapologetically human scent.  He often had to remind himself that the senses of other officers were not so acute, and would barely notice how often he rubbed his neck while at his station.

Kirk’s breaths became steadily louder, barely caging sobs. 

“Is everything alright, Captain?” Spock began, slipping a hand between his shoulders.  He would convey every warm concept he was aware of.

His sniffling morphed into a fit of awkward laughter, then a constant stream of apologies.

“I wish I knew.”

Among the reassuring patterns Spock provided, a memory slid:

_“You wish to speak to the captain about our relationship.”_

_Fingers, intertwined.  However briefly._

_Raised brows and defiant huffs.  Underlined thickly by respect._

“Will that be sufficient, Captain, in order for you to ‘know’?”

“I think that may have made it worse.”

“That was not my intention.  Perhaps I may clarify?”

“Sure,” Kirk said, pressing his forehead against both palms.

“It is not uncommon for Vulcans to accept multiple mates, simultaneously.  This is often more mutually beneficial than the standard Earth alternative.” 

“But wouldn’t you—?”

“I am the product of a culture in which jealousy is nonexistent.”

***

Kirk and Spock’s instantaneous understanding could only be rivalled by that of Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel.

She did not even glance up from the desk, when he reappeared in Sickbay.

“I’ve still got the recipe,” she began, “If you want it.”

“Wh—no.  I’m not doing that.  Anyway, it wouldn’t be plomeek soup.” He glanced at the floor, “He’s more… banana pudding.”

Chapel grinned, stood, and met him in the doorway.

“Banana pudding.” She nodded, “How’s that old phrase go?  It’s something like, ‘you always want what you can’t have.’”

“So you settle.”

“Mmm,” Chapel sighed, “I don’t think _you_ do.”

“I’ll be fine, now that I’ve got someone to complain to.”

***

Kirk was impressed by the silence, during their ride in the turbo-lift.  All together.

Of course, the kisses forbade talking.  But these were brief.  Spock was relieved; he no longer needed to participate, as the humans defined and practiced.

He offered a hand to each of them, though, and only let go when the door slid open.  They arrived on the bridge.

Kirk and McCoy kept their fingers tightly interlocked.  Spock calculated the odds of negative reactions from the crew, first.  Then positive.

But there were none, of either variety.

The captain checked in with Lieutenant Uhura, then with the helm, still tugging McCoy along by the hand.  He felt like a boy again, taking his puppy on its first walk through the neighborhood.  He would stop at every house, to show the other children.

He rested his free hand on the top of Sulu’s chair, and provided casual reminders about the ship’s course. 

“Of course, Captain,” Sulu responded, resisting the urge to turn and wink at the captain, or Chekov, or Uhura, or _anyone_ , “I’d say the whole fleet knows that one, Sir.”

“Thank you, Mister Sulu,” the captain replied, rubbing thoughtfully at his lip.  He turned to smile at Spock, who had taken a protective position behind the doctor’s shoulder.  The Vulcan stood with both hands clasped behind his back.

“Let’s get you settled in, Bones,” Kirk said, turning again to the lift.


End file.
